Chapter Twenty-Eight

Rylee’s appointment with a former Rosie’s Bridals’ bride, Megan, was already underway when Kit arrived at the apartment. Rylee’s fiancé was there as well.

Darius and Rylee had an obvious ease about them. Their love for each other all but telegraphed itself to everyone in their company, a touch to a shoulder, a smile from across the room. Kit saw all of it as if her radar had been awakened, her nerve endings like transmitters of matters of the heart.

But tonight whenever Shane came to mind, she was reminded of his phone call from Dana. She couldn’t wait to get her best friend’s take on it, but it would be a while before this meeting was over and she could get Rylee alone.

Megan had lost her husband two years before and had been one of the former brides who participated in the fashion show last year. She was a beautiful woman with a sadness in her blue eyes so apparent it could stop someone dead. But her smile was a brave one, an infectious one, and Kit found herself smiling back.

“Megan, you look wonderful.”

“You’re all too kind. Thank you.”

“So, Rylee, catch me up.” Kit took a seat on the sofa beside Megan. Rylee and Darius sat in chairs that faced the couch. There were teacups on the table and a pot of tea.

“Help yourself to some tea, Kit.” Rylee handed her an empty cup.

She waved her off. She was too jumpy for tea.

Rylee pointed to a bundle of plastic-covered garments bent over the dining table across the room. “Darius helped Megan bring the dresses over.”

“There are twenty,” Megan said. “And each one is prettier than the next. Granted, they need some TLC.”

“That’s where the genius of Kit Baxter comes in.” Darius flashed a smile.

The dresses were vintage wedding gowns Megan was giving to Rosie’s Bridals. She was taking over a space downtown where a second-hand shop had been housed. The store went out of business, and she was about to embark on reopening, concentrating on furniture and estate jewelry, not clothing.

“You must be so excited, Megan,” Kit offered.

“I’m thinking it’s more like hysteria, but yeah, it’s got me jazzed.”

“When do you anticipate opening your shop?”

“There’s a lot of work yet to do.”

“If there’s anything we can do to help you, give a holler.” Darius was a good resource, and Kit was glad he made the offer. Megan just made you want to root for her.

Kit got up from the sofa and went to the dresses, and Rylee joined her. They flipped the dry-cleaner bags up to hug the neck of the hanger as they inspected each dress. Some were in better shape than others, but all twenty vintage wedding gowns were salvageable.

“Megan, these are wonderful.” Rylee’s eyes misted, and in turn Kit’s did as well.

Rosie’s Bridals belonged to her friend, but Kit was as invested in it and in Rylee as she could be. “Are you sure we can’t pay you for them?”

“All I hope is that they wind up in the hands of happy brides.”

“This is going to really give Rosie’s a new burst of life, Megan.” Rylee put a hand to her chest.

“And we’re going to advertise the hell out of our new division.” Darius put a hand out and slid it across an imaginary banner. “Rosie’s Vintage Couture.”

Megan clasped her hands. “How wonderful.”

“And you can count on us to help you get your shop launched.” He lifted his water bottle. “To our contribution to keeping Sycamore River’s downtown the quaint village it’s always been.”

****

After Megan left and Darius went into another room to get some work done, Kit seized the opportunity to get Rylee’s opinion about Shane’s phone call from Dana.

Rylee tilted her head in contemplation. “Did you ask him about it?”

“No. I figured if there was something he wanted me to know, he’d have said.” Kit leaned her head back against the sofa cushion and spoke to the ceiling. “What am I doing, Ry?”

“You’re feeling it out, friend.”

She rolled her head to meet Rylee’s gaze. “We must not forget that I’m an idiot.”

“We’re talking about Mr. Maybe, I presume.”

“This pretend boyfriend story is backfiring on me. It’s like I made up a nice little world and then moved right in. That’s how it feels tonight anyway.”

“That phone call probably meant nothing. Don’t project what Brian did onto this guy.”

“I know. Shane couldn’t be more different from Brian. That much I do know. The rest?” She shrugged. “The wedding is soon. After that who knows what will happen?”

****

The house was dark when she returned home. She was disappointed. Somehow she just wished she’d had a chance to talk with Shane, see his face. She was falling for him. Her heart was still tender, and each pang felt like a jackhammer, but still she could not deny Shane had given her the hope she had sworn not to feel. Was it just weeks ago he sat at Hop’s kitchen table for the first time? Had she known then how she’d feel now, would she have agreed to this arrangement? The answer was yes. At least she could admit the truth.

After putting on her pajamas, she went into the kitchen for a drink of water. She stood at her favorite spot and looked out the glass pane into the night. The lights were on in Hop’s house. She wondered how he was doing with Smokey.

She looked at the display on her fitness tracker. It was after midnight. What was he doing up at this hour? Was the kitten okay? Should she call him?

Shoving her feet into a pair of garden clogs and tugging on her college sweatshirt, Kit slipped out the door. She crunched over the gravel toward Hop’s stoop and peered into the small window on the door. Hop sat with his back to her at the kitchen table. She swallowed and rapped on the door. Instantly, he turned and saw her.

He lumbered down his hallway and opened the door. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“Why are you up at this hour?”

“Do you ever answer a question?”

“Do you?”

“Oh for God’s sake, kid, you coming in or what?”

She followed him into his kitchen. An empty glass sat on the table next to a bottle of scotch. A newspaper was splayed on the surface.

“How’s the kitten?”

“He’s sleeping on my goddamn bed.” A rueful smile curved one side of his mouth. “Little fur ball.” He studied Kit. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

She unzipped her sweatshirt and sat next to him. “You have chamomile tea?”

He scrunched his face. “Do I look like I’d have tea made out of dead flowers?”

She shook her head. “Never mind.” She pointed to the empty glass. “Looks like you’ve already had a beverage.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“What keeps you up tonight, old man?”

He twisted his mouth sideways. “They want me to retire.”

“What? Who does?”

“The town. The department. It’s past my expiration date, I guess.” He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound.

Kit surveyed the newspaper on the table. It was open to the classified section, which in this small town wasn’t even a half a column long.

“You looking for a new job, Hop?”

“No. Maybe. There’s nothing anyway unless I want to sell solar panels to unsuspecting patsies.” He scoffed. “Or replacement windows. There’s nothing for me in here.”

“Is there some kind of age limit on being in the fire department?”

“Not to be a volunteer member, but to be a paid officer, yeah, you can’t be older than seventy. I’m seventy-two.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t get old, kid.”

Her heart lurched for this man who had grown to mean so much to her. “You know, Hop, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. You could do all the things you like. Kayaking on the river, tinkering on things around here, and didn’t you say you’ve always wanted to buy a trailer and take it cross-country? Maybe now’s the time.”

A wry smile claimed his mouth. “That’s what Ellie and I wanted to do. It was our dream.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. What did one do when they had a dream that included someone else who was no longer here?

“Every single minute I’d be wishing Ellie was there with me.” He turned to her with shiny eyes. “I still miss her.”

“I know.”

“Ellie and me, we were happy. Don’t get me wrong, kid. We fought like hell sometimes.” He grinned. “She always won, but that’s beside the point.” He poured a scant amount of the brown liquid into his glass and chugged it. “We had everything. Look around you. See this little place with the cracks in the ceiling and the damn moody plumbing? We were as happy as if this was a palace.”

“Sounds—” Kit swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “—sounds lovely.”

“Kid, if you ever listen to anything I say, listen now. The right partner means everything. All the other stuff, the bills, the worries, the ups and downs, they mean zilch when you’ve got the right person at your side. The problem, though, is if they leave you.” He shook his head. “That damn cancer beat us both up, I’ll tell you.”

She pushed up from the chair and went to the cabinet where Hop kept his drinking glasses. She withdrew a glass that matched his, came back to the table, and poured herself a little of the scotch. She hated scotch, but right now it was all she could think to do. She swigged, then grimaced and coughed. She slammed her glass down. “Bleh.”

Hop chuckled. “Lightweight.”

“I drink pink wine, Hop, not this battery acid.”

“Yeah, and tea made out of weeds.” He shook his head. “You’re a piece of work.”

“Hop, I think the right next chapter will come to you. Give yourself a little time to let the dust settle, and it’ll hit you. You’ll see.”

“You think so?”

“I do.”

“Here’s the thing, I guess. When a new chapter starts, you have to go for it. Believe it’s going to be a good one. If you don’t believe, you’ll never achieve. I didn’t make that up. It’s on a poster at the firehouse.”

All she could do was nod.

“How are you doing, kid?”

“You were right. I am a piece of work.”

“You feeling like him over there?” He motioned his head in the direction of her house. “You starting to like the guy?”

“What do you mean, feeling like him?” Her heart whirred in her chest.

“He came to talk to me, but you didn’t hear this from me, you understand?”

“He went to see you? About me?”

“He’s sweet on you.” A teasing light came into his dark eyes. “No accounting for taste.”

She punched her fist into his thick shoulder. “What did he say exactly?”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Since when?”

“Come on, Kit. I said too much already. Let’s just say the guy’s thinking about what’s going to happen once this wedding happens.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I still can’t believe you roped that poor guy into a charade.” Hop folded up the newspaper. “Now I know where you get it from. That mother of yours roping me into this nonsense with a little cat. Don’t get me started.”

“Careful, Hop. Before you know it, you and Mom are going to be buddies.”

He slapped the newspaper. “Okay, you. Time to call it a night. Past my bedtime. I’m as old as dirt, apparently.”

He pushed up from the chair and carried his glass to the sink. She followed and placed her glass beside his. Standing there at his sink, she put her head on Hop’s shoulder, an impulse that surprised her. “You’re not past your expiration date, Hop. Not to me.”

“Thanks, kid.” He placed an arm around her shoulders and briefly tucked her close. “Starting over stinks.”

She nodded. “Like garbage.”